


been sleeping here instead

by bayloriffic



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:51:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity buys Oliver a bed. </p><p>Takes place some time before "The Calm" (3.01).</p>
            </blockquote>





	been sleeping here instead

“What are you doing?” Felicity demands, her voice cutting through the quiet of the foundry and rousing Oliver out of a restless sleep.

Oliver snaps awake, sitting up too quickly, the thin wool blanket falling off of him and the stitches in his side pulling painfully. He hisses in pain, and Felicity rushes over to his side, her high heels clicking loudly on the concrete. 

“Oliver! Are you okay?” She kneels down next to him on the floor, one hand hovering over the bandage on his ribs, the other pressed lightly against his bare shoulder. 

Her skin is warm and soft and he knows he probably shouldn’t lean into her touch as easily as he does, but he can’t seem to help himself. No matter how much he tries to deny it, he’s drawn to her, like the darkness to the light or a moth to a flame or some other ridiculous cliché that couldn’t even begin to describe how he feels whenever he’s with her.

“I’m fine,” he lies, gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his side. Damn bullet wounds. Maybe the Arrow's next big mission will be getting rid of all the guns in Starling City.

“Okay, that’s it.” She slides her hand down his arm to his wrist, getting to her feet and tugging him up with her. He lets her pull him up, relishing the feel of her skin against his, trying not to wince at the way his back cracks as he stands. “You’re coming with me.”

*

“Felicity,” Oliver sighs when he sees where she’s brought him. _Starling City Mattress Factory._ Shit.

“You need to get a bed, Oliver. Sleeping on the floor of the foundry can’t be good for you.”

Oliver swallows hard, staring out the window at the brightly lit showroom, full of furniture that he definitely cannot afford now that he’s basically penniless. “The floor is fine,” he says tightly. 

“Hey,” she says in a low voice, reaching out to put her hand on his forearm. Oliver glances over at her, his heart rate picking up. Since they’ve returned from Lian Yu, she’s been touching him a lot more, these familiar, easy touches that still manage to make his stomach flip. “This is on me.”

“Felicity, I can’t --” he starts.

“Oliver,” she cuts him off, her fingers tightening against his arm. “I used to work for a billionaire, which, while it didn’t quite put me in his tax bracket, did have some financial perks, so. Let me do this for you. Okay?”

Oliver sighs, gritting his teeth and breathing out slowly through his nose. The truth is, he doesn’t need a bed; he doesn’t care where he sleeps or if the concrete of the foundry makes his back ache and cramp, but he does care about Felicity, about the way she’s looking at him right now, about not letting her worry about him.

So: “Okay,” he agrees. The smile she gives him makes something in his chest feel tight, and Oliver decides that, from here on out, he’ll do anything he can to make her smile like that again. 

*

“This one’s nice,” Felicity says. They’re lying on one of the beds together, both of them on their backs, a couple of inches of space between them. “Soft, but not too soft.”

“I don’t know,” Oliver says, rolling onto his side so that he’s facing her. The mattress dips, and Felicity dips with it, her body inching closer to his. “I think I might want something a little firmer.”

“Firmer is good,” Felicity agrees, turning onto her side so that they’re face-to-face. The mattress dips again, and suddenly they’re right next to each other, close enough that he can smell her shampoo, something light and vaguely citrusy. “It’s always good to be...firm.”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice comes out low and a little rough. Felicity’s gaze flickers down to Oliver’s mouth, and warmth pools low in his belly. Her hair's gotten a little disheveled from all the bed testing, her ponytail coming undone. Oliver thinks about reaching over, tucking one of the loose strands behind her ear, but before he gets the chance, Felicity’s getting up, rolling off the mattress and moving onto the next one.

She sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing on it experimentally. “Ugh, no,” she says, shaking her head, the ends of her ponytail brushing up against her cheek. “This one is like sitting on a cloud. You’d hate it.”

She’s onto the next bed before he can respond, and Oliver just trails along behind her as she tests each mattress, this strangely light feeling blooming in his chest. He’s not sure, but he thinks it might be happiness.

*

They can’t have the bed delivered to the foundry for obvious reasons, so they end up having to tie it onto the roof of Felicity’s car, the two of them trying to figure out the best way to anchor both the mattress and the box spring to the top of the Mini Cooper in such a way that it won't fly off the roof in the middle of the highway.

"You know, we didn't need to get both of these. Just a mattress would have been fine," Oliver says, testing the integrity of the knot over the passenger side door. It looks like it will hold, but he pulls the twine a little tighter, just in case.

"A mattress isn't a bed," Felicity tells him. "Besides, you can't just sleep on a mattress laid out on the floor like you're some kind of frat boy or something. And, yes, I know that you were a frat boy in a previous life, but I like to pretend that you've moved on from that, and that the Oliver Queen that I know and love...I mean, not _love_ -love, I just mean--" she cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her forehead as her cheeks turns pink.

"Felicity," Oliver says, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I think we're good to go."

"Oh thank god," she says, and Oliver smiles.

*

By the time they get back to Verdant, it’s after dark, and they’ve still got to wrangle the bed down the stairs and into the basement, which turns out to be a more difficult task than Oliver had anticipated.

“Maybe we should just call Diggle,” Felicity finally says. They’ve managed to get the mattress and the box spring off the car and to the back door of the club, but the bullet wound in Oliver's side has started to throb and Felicity's arms look like they're trembling from strain. “His biceps are the size of a small child. The two of you should be able to get this downstairs in no time.”

“Diggle’s with Lyla,” Oliver says, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the door, propping it open with his shoulder and gesturing for Felicity to keep coming. "I don't want to bother him."

“What about Roy, then?” she asks, pushing against the mattress with all of her weight. It only moves a couple of inches, and Felicity huffs in annoyance. “I know he’s not Mirakuru-strong anymore, but he could probably help.”

“Roy’s...let’s just…” Oliver starts, taking a deep breath and then giving Felicity what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “We’ve almost got this, Felicity. Just keep pushing.” 

She sighs, but leans her shoulder against the mattress as Oliver drags it, the two of them managing to get it through the door and to the top of the stairs. It’s easy going from there, just a matter of guiding it down the stairs as gravity does its work. 

“Finally,” Felicity groans, falling down onto the mattress, her head lolling back as she stares up at the ceiling. “I hope you don’t expect me to help you drag this thing any further. I think the foot of the stairs is an excellent place to sleep.”

Oliver smiles as he sits down beside her. He thinks he’s smiled more in the past few months than he has in the past five years. 

“When Digg gets here in the morning, I’ll have him help me set it up over near the grates.”

“The grates where all the steam comes out?” Felicity asks. Her voice is quiet and a soft, and when Oliver looks over at her, she’s got her eyes closed behind her glasses.

“It’s warm over by the grates,” Oliver offers.

“Mmmm,” Felicity hums in acknowledgement. “Tomorrow, we’ll buy you some sheets. And maybe a plant. A fern, maybe, or an orchid. Something to brighten the place up.”

"Maybe," he agrees, lying back and turning to look at her. Her skirt's gotten rucked up around her thighs, the bright pink fabric of her dress a vivid, incongruous splash of color in the dreary darkness of the foundry. Her eyes are closed, and she looks exhausted, dark circles under her eyes and a thin sheen of sweat coating her forehead. Oliver thinks she just might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. "But I think it's pretty bright in here already."


End file.
